


It's Lily Dale

by MittenWraith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Background Case, Curses, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Long-Suffering Sam Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, even the angst is fluffy, idiots to lovers, if a big comfy sofa can count as a bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-06 22:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20514803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: They were at it again, Sam thought to himself as his eyes closed and he tilted his face up toward the heavens for mercy. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing full well there was no mercy to be found in Heaven, but maybe silently hoping the ceiling might cave in on him and put him out of his misery. It was an old bunker, after all, and who knows if they actually repaired all the damage from the grenade Dean fired off in there a few years back? It could happen, but unfortunately, sitting at a table in the library researching for a case-- any case that would give him an excuse to leave for even a day or two-- was probably his best bet. Even worse, the three hours Dean and Cas had been out running the long list of errands he’d invented to get them out of his hair for a while hadn’t been long enough for him to find that precious, precious case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic inspired by my chat with [Ceeceekayblog](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com) on tumblr that also inspired [It's Destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736737).

They were at it again, Sam thought to himself as his eyes closed and he tilted his face up toward the heavens for mercy. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing full well there was no mercy to be found in Heaven, but maybe silently hoping the ceiling might cave in on him and put him out of his misery. It was an old bunker, after all, and who knows if they actually repaired all the damage from the grenade Dean fired off in there a few years back? It could happen, but unfortunately, sitting at a table in the library researching for a case--  _ any _ case that would give him an excuse to leave for even a day or two-- was probably his best bet. Even worse, the three hours Dean and Cas had been out running the long list of errands he’d invented to get them out of his hair for a while hadn’t been long enough for him to find that precious, precious case.

He slammed his laptop shut and rubbed at his temples as the sounds of their arguing drew closer down the hallways from the garage toward the kitchen. For a while after Cas had chosen to move in permanently, permanently human after surrendering his grace as the seal on the cosmic deal to end all deals, things had been great. Until they weren’t.

Dean had been thrilled to have his best friend with them, his partner in crime, without having to worry that Cas would flap off on some secret mission or be pulled back into Heaven’s drama. Cas had been thrilled to finally understand just how much they still wanted and needed him in their lives even without his powers. And Sam had been thrilled he wouldn’t have to endure either of their angsting when the other wasn’t around. What he hadn’t expected was them gradually shifting all that angst directly on to each other.

Sam didn’t even remember how it started. He’d idly spent many a long hour enduring another one of their arguments over some petty thing or other wondering if he could trace it all back to a specific inciting incident. Maybe they were cursed while on a case and didn’t realize it. Or maybe fixing their issues would be as simple as discovering that Dean had inadvertently eaten Cas’s last packet of gummy bears and never apologized, or Cas had used up Dean’s favorite hair gel and didn’t replace it. If only he hadn’t heard them openly hollering at each other about both of those things over the last few weeks already, he could’ve taken one or the other of them aside and nipped this tension in the bud. But Sam had no such luck.

Dean was currently yelling about why they didn’t buy their usual brand of coffee, because another brand had been half price this week. Cas argued that money really wasn’t an issue, since they’d used a fraudulently obtained credit card to make the entire purchase anyway, and he’d grown accustomed to their regular brand. Dean replied back that they drink shitty coffee at diners and truck stops around the country, and Cas never complained about that. And Cas argued back that one of the  _ comforts of home _ was the routine and reliability of being able to indulge in their favored brand of coffee. And round and round they went.

If Sam didn’t know better, he’d think they actually enjoyed arguing with each other. Except he’d had to deal with the fallout after each new explosion, too. After the inevitable blowup, one or both of them would storm off to their rooms, where one or both of them would spend the ensuing hours sulking and refusing to engage in research or chores or life in general. And frequently, one or both of them would eventually bring their discontent to Sam, wallowing in abject misery over the latest round of discourse. More and more, it had been falling to Sam to hold everyone together, and he’d had enough.

They banged around the kitchen putting away groceries for a few minutes, but at least they weren’t yelling anymore. He overheard Dean asking Cas if he was up for watching the rest of some baking show they’d been streaming the previous night, but Cas sighed heavily in reply and declined. Sam heard footsteps heading down the hall, and shortly thereafter, a door shutting with a firm thud. He sat there waiting to see which of them had called it quits for the night, and placing bets on which of them was left to wander into the library to interrupt his quiet evening of research by playing the part of a grumpy lump in his vicinity that would invariably refuse to actually address his problems despite Sam’s resigned prodding.

It was just a matter of time, Sam thought to himself as he sighed and opened his laptop back up. He really, really had to find an excuse to get out of there for at least a day or two before he exploded all over both of them. Inspired anew, he scrolled through search results until something potentially interesting caught his eye, something he hadn’t seen in a very long time. He’d become so absorbed in reading, he hadn’t noticed Dean come into the library until he pulled out the chair across from him and slumped down in it with a huff. Sam sat and waited, refusing to be the one to open the conversation like Dean was probably expecting him to.

“Have you even moved at all since we left?” Dean asked eventually when he realized Sam wasn’t about to push him to talk about his feelings for the three hundredth time, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sam sighed, not bothering to lift his eyes from the screen. “Of course I have. I spent the first hour you were gone rollerskating naked through the halls.”

Dean made a face at that, shifted in his seat, but eventually snorted. “Yeah, whatever. You know all that sitting ain’t good for you.”

“Yep, but if I want to find a hunt, it’s part of the job,” Sam replied, smirking up at Dean over the top of his screen. “And I remember telling  _ you _ that sitting was the new smoking once.”

Dean ignored that while Sam continued to read about his potential case. It was probably a load of hooey, but he didn’t even care about that anymore. It was just plausible enough to give him an excuse to drive far, far away from the bunker for at least three days. It was perfect.

“So, any luck?” Dean asked after another uncomfortable few minutes.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, that’s vague.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Sam replied. “But it’s just weird enough that I might go check it out anyway. You remember that town full of fake psychics? Lily Dale?”

“Yeah, full of fake psychics, a couple of spooky types who had enough of a gift to give you the heebie jeebies, and one real psychic with a pet ghost who liked to kill people. How could I forget?”

Sam shrugged. “You were drinking a lot back then. Good to know you didn’t just black it all out.”

Dean made a disgusted noise at that. “It was a bad year, what can I say.”

“Since when have we ever had a  _ good _ year, Dean?” Sam replied, finally looking up over the top of his monitor and waiting for an answer.

Dean opened and closed his mouth and then sat up a bit straighter. “Well, this year’s looking up so far…”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, right. That’s why you and Cas have reached the storming out of rooms and slamming doors phase of your ongoing argument. Because things are so great.”

Dean frowned at that and slumped back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, well, that’s complicated.”

“Well, how about this, then. I’m gonna take a quick run up to Lily Dale and make sure this isn’t a real psychic causing trouble again. While I’m gone, you and Cas can try and sort out your shit.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam shut his laptop and stood up. He leaned across the table and pointed a finger right in Dean’s face.

“Nope, Uh, uh. You two need to either talk it out, or come to an agreement, or maybe even figure out why you’re both being such assholes to each other. But living with the two of you is becoming an exercise in tolerance, and I am tired, okay? I thought you were both thrilled that Cas was here permanently now, and instead of actually enjoying the fact, you’ve both just been making each other miserable. Figure it out, fix it, find a solution. _Uncomplicate it_. You’ve got three days. Meanwhile I’m gonna have a quiet, pleasant, argument-free drive to New York to find out why a string of supposed psychics have been checking themselves into the hospital or fleeing town altogether one after another.”

Dean probably would’ve had a snappy comeback to the psychic comment, but he was still staring open-mouthed at Sam as he stormed out of the room. Honestly, it felt pretty damn good to be the one leaving an argument for once. If things kept going this well for him, Sam knew he was gonna have a relaxing long weekend, if nothing else.

He went to his room, slammed the door just because he could, and packed a bag. He opened his laptop back up and ran through the details of the case as he understood them, listing a number of possible causes for the rash of previously fraudulent psychics suddenly being so overwhelmed by the constant assault of psychic impressions from everyone around them that they abandoned their homes and business and ran for the hills.

Sam thought back to Andy Gallagher, who was able to insert thoughts into other people’s minds. It had been a really long time since he’d thought about any of the other psychic children Azazel had messed with, but it did open the possibility that a real psychic was again messing with all the frauds in Lily Dale. If that was the case, Sam could probably sniff them out on his own. It would’ve been pointless to haul Dean and Cas along, anyway. They’d probably just end up yelling at each other and getting in his way.

He sighed and packed his laptop. If Dean wasn’t being such a dick, and if Sam hadn’t already taunted him about his memory of that long-ago case in Lily Dale, he would’ve gladly prodded Dean’s memories for anything that might prove useful to him now. At least most of the people they’d interacted with back then were dead now, so that made his avenues for investigation a little bit easier. The only person who might remember him at all was the girl… Melody? No, Melanie. But she’d been into Dean, anyway. He could at least pay her a visit, if she wasn’t already one of the new victims this time around.

With that grim thought in mind, he grabbed a few additional items from around his room, just in case. He shoved a ouija board, a curse box, and a few protective hex bags into his duffel in addition to his usual stash of weapons. It was probably nothing, but he would be prepared for anything.

Sam only had one more stop to make on his way out. He needed to borrow Cas’s keys. There was no way he was gonna think about taking the Impala with Dean already in such a touchy mood. Although it might’ve given him something better to be grumpy about than whatever made up bullshit he kept starting arguments with Cas over. He sighed, stopped outside Cas’s closed door, and knocked.

“I already told you I’d let the coffee thing go, Dean,” Cas said through the closed door in resignation. “I don’t want to keep arguing over it right now.”

Sam frowned at that, wondering just how one-sided their arguments have actually been, or if he’d been missing something bigger going on all this time. He’d been keeping himself far enough out of their troubles that he hadn’t really been giving a lot of thought to what was still clearly happening between them when they weren’t yelling. He debated changing his plans and putting a little more effort into getting to the bottom of the great Dean and Cas feud, but resigned himself to giving them one last chance to fix this on their own. No, he needed to stick to his plan. But maybe there was one thing he could do before he left.

“Uh, hey Cas, it’s Sam,” he said to the closed door.

He heard a startled,  _ oh _ , from the other side, followed by rustling noises. Cas opened the door a moment later and actually smiled at him before walking back to where he’d been sitting in bed, clearly doing some reading if the half dozen lore books scattered around his rumpled blankets were any indication.

“Hello, Sam. I’m sorry, I thought Dean was back to continue our discussion about coffee.”

“Yeah, uh, no,” Sam replied, hesitating in the doorway for a moment before dropping his bag in the hallway and stepping into the room.

“Are you going somewhere?” Cas said, finally taking note of the bag.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Sam said, assessing the look of curiosity spreading over Cas’s face. It was his last chance to give Cas a version of the talking-to he’d given Dean, but it wasn’t as easy as it was with Dean. He knew just how far he could push Dean, but Cas was still a bit of a mystery to him. He decided to be gentle but firm.

“There’s a possible case up in New York, and I told Dean I’m gonna check it out.” At the glimmer of hope he got from the inquisitive tilt of Cas’s head, Sam knew this was were the  _ firm _ part of his plan needed to start. He held up a hand. “It’s probably nothing, but honestly I just need a few days to myself… away from all the yelling.”

Cas’s face fell as he’d talked, until he was staring down at his own hand in his lap, fiddling with the edge of the nearest book. “I’m sorry if we’ve caused you any discomfort, Sam. We don’t seem to be able to control our emotions, and we’re thoughtlessly letting that rule our behavior.”

Sam nodded eagerly, but thankfully composed his face before Cas looked apologetically up at him. “Yeah, I figured giving the two of you some space to sort out your issues for a few days couldn’t hurt. If you actually talk to each other, instead of just biting each other’s heads off and then hiding until you’ve chilled again. Maybe tell each other why you’re really pissed off instead of funneling it into all these petty arguments?”

Cas gave him a pained look, and then nodded, returning his attention to the battered spine of his book. “Yes, well, I’m not pissed off at Dean about anything. More angry with myself, I suppose.” He gave Sam a resigned little smile, and suddenly Sam wondered if there wasn’t something entirely different at the root of their disagreements.

“Well, you got nothing to be angry about, okay Cas? We’re both thrilled to have you here. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I do,” Cas replied. “I just hope that will be enough.”

Sam frowned at that, but Cas didn’t seem to want to say anything more. “Well, just promise me you’ll try to talk to him, okay? If it’s any consolation, I got the same promise outta Dean. I should be back in a few days, but if you need anything, just call. I really just want you both to be happy, whatever it takes, okay?”

Cas sighed and nodded. “I want the same, Sam. Thank you.”

“So, uh, would you mind if I took your car? I think Dean would kill me if I tried to take the Impala.”

Cas snorted out a laugh and reached into the drawer beside his bed. “I think you’re probably right,” he agreed, handing over the keys.

Sam smiled and clenched the keys in his fist. “Thank you for this, Cas.” With that, Sam was free for at least three days. He swore to himself he’d make the most of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam spent the next seventeen or so hours on the road, finally crashing for a few hours at a motel just outside Lily Dale so he could roll into town that afternoon. Before passing out, he made a quick call to Melanie Golden and learned she was still a fixture in the town, and that yes, she was just as concerned about the recent rash of psychic talent driving a scary number of her associates out of town. She’d confessed to him that she’d thought of Sam and Dean as the incidents mounted, but she’d had no way of contacting them. With no small amount of embarrassment, she even admitted to sending out a psychic projection to the universe hoping they’d turn up to investigate. Sam grinned and assured her it must’ve worked, and arranged to meet her at Dean’s least favorite restaurant for lunch.

***

Back at the bunker, Dean and Cas had spent an awkward and restless night desperately trying to avoid each other. Cas had already sequestered himself in his room after their errands the previous afternoon, and Dean had holed up in the Dean Cave to watch movies. It wasn’t the same without Cas there to share in the experience or Sam there to complain about it to, and it wasn’t long before Dean found himself in the kitchen looking for any excuse to drag Cas back out of his room again. They both still had to eat, so it wouldn’t kill him to get dinner started. If the aromas of a couple of bacon cheeseburgers and a pan of fried potatoes happened to lure Cas out into the open, well that probably wouldn’t hurt, either. He’d started thinking of it as a peace offering.

Sam had left with the admonition to get their shit together and stop the petty fighting. Dean grumbled under his breath as he tended the crisping bacon on the stove. If only Sam knew the real reason for his ongoing grumpiness with Cas-- essentially it had nothing to do with grumpiness at all. Well, maybe it did, but the grumpiness was entirely borne of frustration.

When Cas had taken his final plunge into humanity, Dean had been worried at first. Unlike the last time he’d been human, though, Cas took to it well, probably because Dean hadn’t kicked him out this time. He’d eagerly made the adjustment, letting Dean give him every lesson on How To Human, answering all his questions and even commiserating with him over some of the less enjoyable aspects of humanity. It had actually been nice, being able to take care of Cas through his first bout with a cold, exploring the variety of foods he’d never had a chance to appreciate before, and generally helping Cas settle in to his new life. It had all been going well, maybe _ too _ well, Dean realized with the perfect clarity of hindsight.

Dean had been taking Cas out to Donnie’s bar regularly, teaching him to play pool and darts. He’d grown to really enjoy it, so much that when they weren’t on a hunt, Dean would drag him out at least every other night. The excuse began to wear thin around the time Cas first beat him at pool. And it all fell apart completely one night as Cas leaned over the table lining up his next shot.

“You know, you don’t have to babysit me like this, Dean.”

“What do you mean?” Dean had asked, beer bottle raised halfway to his lips. “We’re just hanging out, shooting a game of pool, right?”

Cas sunk his ball and glanced up at Dean as he made his way around the table looking for his next shot. “I was under the impression that the reason for our evenings here was to teach me this game. I believe I’ve achieved a considerable familiarity with it now.”

Dean just blinked at him while he sunk his next shot. “So, what, you saying you don’t wanna play anymore? Not enough of a challenge now that you can kick my ass?”

Cas shrugged, staring at the table instead of looking up at him. “I’m saying you shouldn’t feel obligated to continue giving me lessons if there were something you’d rather be doing.”

He glanced every so slightly to the side, and Dean only noticed where his eyes landed because he’d been staring so intently at Cas. He’d eyed up Darlene, the new waitress Donny had hired, the one who’d been openly flirting with Dean the last few times they’d been in. Dean snorted and settled back on his stool, but Cas wasn’t really playing the game anymore, still standing there staring down at the table with the cue stick clutched between his hands.

“Dude, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing, okay? Stop stalling and make your next shot, already.”

And that’s the moment he first used his grumpiness as a weapon. The next time they went to Donnie’s, Cas had brought the subject up again, though. This time, in a way Dean couldn’t as easily brush aside. They’d been sitting at a table eating nachos, waiting for a couple of other guys to finish their game and free up the pool table. Dean had been making polite small talk with the waitress when she’d come over to see if they needed a refill, and the moment she’d left, Cas had asked him one of those questions Dean had been dreading.

“How do you flirt so easily?”

Cas had said it while watching Darlene make her way back to the bar to pick up a few more beers for them, and that one innocent comment had sent Dean’s heart plummeting through his chest into his stomach. He hadn’t actually been flirting with the woman, just making small talk. But suddenly he was unsure if Cas’s growing frustration had more to do with his own desire to flirt with Darlene, or if he’d just been bringing up the point he’d made a few nights earlier, that he suspected Dean had been putting the moves on her, or whatever. Either way, it had been the death knell for their little evenings out together. Over the last month or two, Dean had been secretly thinking about their trips to various bars as dates, even if he’d have happily kept that fact to himself forever out of fear that it would freak Cas out. Because of course Cas wasn’t interested in actually dating _ him_, or in anything more than being his friend. And Dean had been grateful to have Cas as his very best friend. There was no way in hell he’d risk that friendship now just because his feelings had inconveniently expanded into strange new territory.

Well, maybe not _expanded_, since those feelings had been humming along in the background of his life for years. More like he'd been forced to acknowledge them directly now that Cas had become a constant presence and the world had stopped trying to off itself on the regular.

Everything had gone downhill after that. There was no way in hell Dean could bring himself to give Cas lessons on how to flirt with random strangers. Once upon a time, yeah, he’d tried to foist Cas off on a hooker, but that had been a decade ago. The very thought of it made him queasy now. He knew he’d never push his own feelings onto Cas, and he wouldn’t stand in the way of Cas’s happiness, but he’d leave any and all dating advice to Sam. He really didn’t want to be in the room when Cas employed said dating advice.

He wasn’t about to be happy about it, either. Hence all his grumpiness with Cas and his complaint sessions with Sam. No matter how hard he prodded for information on what he and Cas talked about while Dean had been holed up in his room, though, Sam wouldn’t break. If Cas was talking to Sam about his budding romantic feelings, he’d either sworn Sam to secrecy or Sam had decided to take a vow of silence out of spite for Dean’s increasingly irritable behavior.

Whatever. He’d made a nice dinner for them, and Cas came strolling in right on time. The cheese was perfectly melted over the burgers and Dean was just layering on the bacon.

“You got some good timing tonight,” Dean said, plating up Cas’s burger with a generous helping of fries.

Cas just stared at the plate for a minute and then frowned up at Dean. “You made this for me?”

Dean shrugged as Cas took the plate, and turned back to the stove to serve himself. “We both gotta eat, so, yeah.”

He didn’t see Cas’s fond smile as he set his plate on the table and went to the fridge for a couple of beers and the bottle of ketchup. Cas set their drinks on the table and took a seat as Dean turned and stalled in his tracks for a split second, taking in the scene-- Cas, sitting there with a look of deep concentration as he squeezed ketchup over his potatoes, giving the bottle a shake when it began making rude noises. He grinned, picked up a couple of forks, and sat down with his food.

Dean had absolutely no idea how to broach the subject Sam had assigned him to handle. He wasn’t about to fuck up the one nice conversation they’d had in the last week to go poking at that hornet’s nest. To be fair, the actual conversation over dinner consisted mostly of appreciative noises and discussion of the food itself. Dean mentioned the film he’d been watching, Cas mentioned the book he’d been reading. They stopped short of commenting on the weather, but Dean noted that Cas seemed to be just as on edge as he was.

It was pretty clear that Sam had given Cas the same homework assignment, and neither of them were ready to share with the class yet. Dean figured that was okay. They had at least another couple of days before Sam would be back. That was plenty of time to just let the conversation happen naturally, right?

Cas volunteered to clean up after they finished eating, and Dean volunteered to help. One minor soapsuds battle later, after they recovered from their laughter and finished cleaning up the new mess they’d made, Dean figured the very least he could offer Cas was an olive branch.

“I’m sorry I got all pissy about the coffee,” he said as he hung up the dishtowel to dry. “You’re right, you know. It’s not like we can’t afford the good stuff. And if it makes you happy, I guess that’s a small price to pay.”

Cas sighed. “I appreciate that, Dean. I know you like the _ good stuff _ too. It’s supposed to make all of us happy.”

Dean gave him a tiny smile and felt some of the tension between them melt away. “Okay, then. Next time we’re out, we’ll pick some up. Have a secret stash, and leave the sale crap out for Sam to drink.”

Cas busted out laughing at that. “Poor Sam. I feel like we’ve put him through a lot lately.”

And there they were again, suddenly dancing too close to the topic for Dean to handle. Things were good, dammit. If he was gonna fuck this whole thing up, he was at least gonna put it off as long as possible. He had at least one more day to enjoy this before he’d have to face the consequences of his own feelings.

Dean shrugged, and the conversation began to fizzle out. “I, uh, think I’m gonna maybe watch another show. You wanna join in?”

“Ah,” Cas said, looking suddenly nervous and distracted, glancing through the doorway like he was expecting someone to show up any second. “I think I’m gonna finish the research I was working on.”

Dean felt his face fall, but quickly plastered on a smile. “Sure, okay, yeah…”

“Maybe we could have a movie marathon tomorrow?” Cas asked tentatively. “Sam won’t be here to complain if you want to watch all the John Wayne films again.”

Dean put on his best John Wayne voice and tipped an imaginary hat. “Is this an invite to a necktie party, Reverend?”

Cas blinked at him for a second and then nodded solemnly. “Oh, The Searchers. Right. Then, no, I wouldn’t say that. No necktie required.”

Dean gave him an awkward but genuine smile and nodded. “It’s a date, then.” He patted Cas on the shoulder as he walked by, and wished him a good night. It wasn’t until he was most of the way back to his room that he realized he’d actually said that out loud. And then the panic set in.

Dean discovered how difficult it was to sleep with his own foot crammed so far into his mouth. He spent the night tossing and turning, wondering if Cas was in the same state or if Dean’s boneheaded comment had gone right over his head. He’d spent the latter part of the night wondering if this would make things awkward the next morning. His nerves kept him lying frozen in bed until Sam called around nine the next morning to report in from his motel that he’d made it to Lily Dale. The one bit of relief Dean experienced was the realization that he wouldn’t have to go back to that hippie restaurant and get _ affirmated _ again. It was just flat-out creepy.

“_Y__ou’re a virile manifestation of the divine_.”

He shuddered at the memory and finally dragged himself out of bed. He wasn’t yet sure if this was gonna be a coffee kind of morning or a beer in his wheaties kind of morning. That would all depend on Cas, he supposed as he got dressed and headed to the kitchen.

Cas had already made coffee and left half the pot for him. As he poured himself a cup, Dean winced and realized exactly what Cas meant about it being nice having the good stuff at home. It was still coffee, with all the caffeine, but that’s all it was. He took another sip and set off to see what Cas was up to, if he’d had breakfast yet.

Dean found Cas in the library finishing off a plate of toast and paging through a book about the psychic history of Lily Dale. “Sam got you on research duty for him?” he asked as he pulled out the chair opposite Cas and snagged his last piece of toast.

Cas turned the page and shrugged. “I just thought it would be best to be prepared if he called looking for information.”

Dean took a bite of his toast and smirked at Cas, pointing at the page Cas was reading that bore a photo of the Fox sisters. “Sam and I burned their bones years ago.”

Cas frowned up at him finally. “You’ve been to this town before?”

Dean shrugged and crammed the rest of his toast into his mouth rather than talking about the last time they were in Lily Dale.

“Then I guess I don’t need to be prepared for a call from Sam,” Cas replied, shutting the book with a sigh and leaning back in his chair.

“Never know. Last case we worked there wasn’t exactly straightforward. If it’s another real psychic stirring up all the fake psychics again, it could be a tricky one to figure out who’s actually got the mojo.”

Cas frowned thoughtfully. “It could also be a witch.”

Dean slurped his coffee and nodded. “Could be. Or could just be one of the fakes found a spellbook or some trinket that gives them real psychic powers.”

Cas’s frown intensified. “And you let Sam take the case on himself?”

“He’s a big, big boy. He’ll call if he needs our help,” Dean replied. “Plus we know someone in town from the last time we were there. They should be able to figure it out together.”

It was still easier for Dean to brush off the real reason Sam hadn’t wanted either of them to tag along on this hunt. It was still early morning, and Sam hadn’t even begun investigating. He was probably still sleeping after his long drive. Dean figured they had at least twenty four hours before Sam would be home. They still had time. And Cas still owed him a movie marathon.

“So, what are you in the mood to watch today?” he asked.

Cas studied him for a minute and then grinned. “If you’re up for it, I’ve been meaning to watch the baking programs Sam added to the Netflix queue for me.”

Dean blinked at him for a moment and then grinned, slapping the table. “Hell, yes. We can break in the new sofa and then maybe do some experimenting in the kitchen later. Hopefully there’ll be at least one decent pie recipe in there.”

“You don’t mind skipping the cowboy movies today?” Cas asked uncertainly as they stood up.

Dean clapped a hand down on his shoulder and guided him toward the Dean Cave. “Not if the alternative is dessert.”

The smile Cas gave him warmed Dean far more than the coffee had.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam’s meeting with Melanie went about as he’d expected it would. The Good Graces Cafe still offered free affirmations with every order and he smothered the urge to laugh hysterically when the waiter told him _ you have the power to fulfill your own destiny._ Melanie was only a little disappointed that Dean hadn’t come to town with him, but she happily filled Sam in on everything she knew.

Several of the locals who’d suddenly left town had been seen meeting with a salesman who’d shown up the week before. He’d introduced himself to Melanie as Mr. Magnus, and offered to sell her a collection of healing charms. She’d declined, since she’d never gone in for the “fake woo-woo crap,” as Dean had called it when he’d informed her that ghosts were all too real. But Mr. Magnus had an old suitcase filled with what she now suspected was real woo-woo crap, and Melanie had a long list of people who might’ve been lured into buying from the guy if they thought it would work with their psychic aesthetic.

It didn’t help his case that the stranger had set off every warning bell Melanie had, from the skeevy air of desperation about him to his refusal to accept a simple _ no thank you _ and move along. She might not have had any real psychic powers, but she could still cold read a person at twenty paces with the best of them.

“You thinking demon?” Dean asked when Sam had called with an update. He’d paused the Great British Bake Off, and he and Cas headed to the kitchen for snacks while they listened to Sam’s report.

“I was thinking witch, or just some poor schmuck who ran across a box full of cursed objects, maybe,” Sam replied. “He wasn’t trading for souls. He took payment in cash.”

“And no hunters in the area whose lockup made it to Storage Wars?” Dean asked while Cas poured them each a glass of milk and grabbed a package of cookies from the cupboard. It was only a little disappointing after watching people bake elaborate desserts for the last four hours, but they were both craving sugar so desperately the store-bought cookies would have to do for now. “You got any leads?”

“Yeah, actually, I do,” Sam said. “I, uh, actually called Rowena, and she thinks she might know where the charms came from, so when I find them, at least I know how to break the curse. This Magnus guy is staying at a B&B in town, and I’m going to see him now.”

“Magnus, huh?” Dean said. “Not the same guy I ganked with the first blade, I take it?”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, no, apparently it’s a popular alias for shady dealers in dangerous magical artifacts.”

“Go figure,” Dean replied, rolling his eyes. “So is Rowena giving you an assist, or are you okay handling this one on your own?”

“I think I got it under control. If this goes according to plan, I’ll be home by this time tomorrow.”

“Be careful, Sam,” Cas said.

“Yeah, I will. I’ll call you back in a couple hours.”

They were actually taking a break from their GBBO marathon to have dinner when Sam finally called back. The connection wasn’t great, and it didn’t help that Sam sounded like he was fighting through a massive headache to talk.

“The good news is I broke the curse, melted down all the rest of Magnus’s amulets,” Sam said around a hiss of pain. “The better news is that his real name is Bill Sikes.”

“The villain from Oliver Twist?” Cas asked as Dean gave him a strange look.

“Yeah, I probably would’ve used an alias, too,” Sam replied in a pained voice. “He bought the curse box they’d been stored in at an estate sale last month, so I think we’re gonna have to look into the rest of the collection to make sure there’s no other random cursed objects floating around out there.”

“Is that the bad news?” Cas asked while Dean continued to slurp up his soup.

“Not quite. I, uh… seem to have been whammied by the curse while I was throwing the amulets into the fire.”

“Sam…” Dean said, both concerned and scolding.

“Rowena said it’ll wear off in a day or two,” Sam replied before Dean could say anything else. “Maybe faster if I put some physical distance between me and the place where I broke the curse. So I’m heading home. It just hurts to be around too many people right now.”

Cas frowned at the phone on the table between them and then up at Dean. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive, Sam?”

“Yeah, maybe you should just find a deserted campground or something and hole up for the night,” Dean added. “There’s plenty of those between New York and here this time of year.”

“No, I think driving would be best. If I gotta drive, it’s probably better to do it overnight when there’s fewer cars on the road.”

Dean made a disgruntled noise and then sighed. “Yeah, whatever, but if it gets bad, stop and find a cornfield or something to sleep it off in, okay?”

“Will do,” Sam said, sighing with relief. “Just made it through Cleveland, and I already feel better.”

“Well that’s nothing unusual,” Dean replied.

“Call us if you have any difficulty, Sam,” Cas said. “And drive safely.”

“I will. See you guys tomorrow. I hope for all our sakes you’ve been using your time wisely,” Sam said, and then hung up.

Dean and Cas stared at each other across the table for a minute or two like a couple of deer caught in headlights. Dean had a thundering moment of panic at Sam’s reminder. He hadn’t quite gotten around to talking with Cas yet, and now Sam was on his way home. Their clock was ticking down faster than he would’ve hoped. On the up side, they hadn’t argued once since Sam had left.

It didn’t take much longer to realize that Cas was just as unsettled by Sam’s words as he was. And it only took them both a few seconds more to piece together what that meant.

“Sam told you to work out our shit before he got home, didn’t he?” Dean asked at the same moment Cas said, “So Sam asked you to to resolve our differences, as well.”

They both blinked and stared at one another for a few moments before Dean got up from the table and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. He set them down beside the empty bottles of beer they’d already drunk with dinner and poured them each a hefty measure.

“Social lubricant,” Dean said when Cas raised an eyebrow at him. He slumped into his seat and picked up his glass, muttering to the whiskey swirling inside it. “Or liquid courage, more like.”

Cas made a slightly disgruntled grumbling sound but picked up his glass. “To nearly a decade of friendship.”

“What, are you toasting _ us_?” Dean asked, and then took a gulp, letting the alcohol warm his tongue before swallowing. “Don’t make it sound like that.”

“Like what?” Cas asked, swallowing his own gulp.

“Like this is the end of the line. Like you’re getting ready to tell me you’re tired of all this and want to go off and find yourself. Like you’re thinking of leaving again.”

Cas set his glass down and frowned at Dean. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you can!” Dean said, slamming his empty glass down a little harder than he’d intended before taking a deep breath and pouring himself and Cas each another measure. “Because maybe this isn’t what you signed up for when you hung up your halo. Because somewhere out there is someone who won’t argue with you about what kind of coffee to buy, who won’t drag you around the country killing monsters and sleeping in scuzzy fleabag motels and forcing you to try the pie at every crappy diner in America.”

“No,” Cas replied, now staring openly at Dean as if he’d grown another head. “I don’t want any of that. Well, maybe I’d like to buy the good coffee, but you already apologized for that and agreed with me. Problem solved. But I _ like _ traveling with you and saving people. Some of the places we stay may be questionable, but I can’t begin to tell you how much I enjoy trying new foods at all those _ crappy _ diners. If you haven’t noticed, I _ like _ pie. I enjoy sharing it with you because you _ love _ pie. And I couldn’t ask for better company, most of the time, when you’re not starting arguments for no reason. We’ve done so much good in the world, Dean, why would I ever want to do anything else?”

It was Dean’s turn to stare open-mouthed now. “Okay, if that’s true, then why make it sound like you’re having a funeral for our friendship?”

Cas stared down at the glass pressed between his hands for a moment, frowning. He picked it up and drained it, then refilled both it and Dean’s glass.”This conversation is definitely going to require more liquid courage.”

“Maybe we should take this somewhere more comfortable, too,” Dean replied.

“Back to the sofa?”

Dean nodded. “Sounds like a plan. If I drink enough to actually have this conversation, I’m probably gonna pass out anyway. This is not a comfy place to wake up with a hangover,” he added, pointing at the table as he got up to get another bottle of whiskey. “Just in case we need it.”

Cas nodded in agreement, and brought the nearly empty bottle with them, as well. He followed Dean back to the Dean Cave, where Netflix was waiting for them to decide whether or not to play the next episode. Dean hit play but turned the volume down so it was more background noise than anything they were paying attention to.

They settled in on the sofa, not quite as close as they had been before, but with a reasonable amount of neutral space between them. Dean set his bottle down on the table and then kicked his slippers off and set his feet up beside the bottle, slumping back into the cushions and draining his third shot. He held the glass out to Cas and tapped the rim. Cas rolled his eyes but poured him another.

“Don’t drink so much that you pass out before we get this resolved,” Cas warned him as he squeezed the open bottle between the sofa cushions for safekeeping.

Dean took a deep breath and held off actually drinking just yet, and stared at the opening credits of the next episode on television as if he hadn’t already watched the little montage more than a dozen times that day and he’d be quizzed on it at the end of the show. They both watched the first few minutes, long enough to hear what the contestants would be baking. Between the mild distraction of the show and the whiskey slowly working its way into his veins, Dean finally wrapped his head around what Cas had said in the kitchen. When he spoke, without even turning to look at Cas, it was barely louder than the television.

“You know if it was my choice, I don’t ever want you to leave, right?”

Cas glanced over, keeping most of his attention facing forward even though Dean suspected Cas wasn’t really engrossed in the show any more than he was.

“It is at least a little bit your choice, though,” Cas replied. “This is your home, and Sam’s, and I’m grateful that you’ve invited me to share it with you.”

“It’s your home, too. No matter what, okay?” Dean replied, finally giving up the pretense of watching the tv and shifting around to look right at Cas. “Long as you want it.”

Cas shrugged and looked down at the glass cupped between his hands before answering. “You’ve asked me to leave before. I would never presume.”

“Dude,” Dean said, incredulous. “That was years ago, and there were extenuating circumstances. And I’ve felt like shit about it ever since, okay? It’s never happening again, you hear me? Far as I’m concerned, I got no right to kick you out anymore.”

Cas’s mouth hung open as he blinked at Dean for a minute. He nodded slowly as that sunk in and Dean’s anger melted into a frown.

“So really, it’s your choice if you wanna stay,” Dean added quietly, wobbling his glass in his hand and watching the liquid slosh from side to side.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes while swallowing about half the whiskey down. He knew this was it. If there was something Cas wanted to tell him-- he wanted some space, he was interested in starting a relationship with someone and settling down, giving up hunting or finding someplace less depressing to live than their cave of a home-- this was the moment. There probably wasn’t enough whiskey in the bunker to soften the blow if Cas wanted out. He could try, though, so he gulped the rest of what was in his glass and then poured himself another.

“You’ve been so… easily upset lately,” Cas started hesitantly. “I thought maybe you wanted a bit more… space. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, taking on the responsibility of ensuring I’m adjusting to all of this.” He waved his hand up and down his chest.

Dean knew he meant his humanity, but all he could see was the the grey henley Cas must’ve pilfered from his clean laundry last week. It fit Cas well. Maybe too well, Dean thought to himself, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment while he mentally kicked himself for losing the thread again. This time, though, he refused to let himself get angry about it and storm off. That hadn’t solved this problem in weeks, and it wouldn’t solve it now. Tick tock.

“Yeah, I really am sorry about that, but you gotta know it’s entirely my fault,” Dean replied. “I just… I guess I am having a hard time adjusting to this, too. But I don’t want my issues to scare you off.” He laughed bitterly and rubbed his eyes. “Believe it or not, it was easier to think I could just push it all down and avoid it until it went away, but, uh, apparently that’s not happening.”

When Dean opened his eyes and gave Cas a weary smile, he was surprised to see Cas still staring at him. This time, there was a surprised and slightly hopeful look on his face.

“So you haven’t been angry with _ me_?” Cas asked softly.

“No way, Cas. It’s, uh,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been angry at myself, mostly. Not even angry. More like… thrown off.”

“You were thrown off?” Cas asked, a confused crinkle forming between his eyebrows. “About coffee?”

Dean sighed. “No, not about coffee. Well, maybe indirectly about coffee. But my whole life, I’ve had to make do with the cheap shit. Stretch a buck as far as it’ll go. It’s hard to let go of that mindset, but there you were in the store wondering why we weren’t buying the good stuff, like it really _mattered_ to you, and I don’t know. I kinda snapped.”

“Dean, if you’d just said so, I would’ve understood,” Cas replied, frowning deeper at Dean’s confession.

Dean took another gulp of whiskey and shook his head. “It’s not even really about the coffee, Cas. It’s about how you make me think twice about shit like that, like you got an opinion on what kinda coffee we get, or what flavor ice cream, or what to have for dinner, or if we’re gonna go hang out and shoot pool. Like you really live here and you’re just as human as me and that’s all just the new normal now.”

“I don’t think I understand why that’s upsetting you so much, then.”

“Because you might _ leave_, Cas,” Dean said in a rush, the words coming out almost broken sounding. He closed his eyes and tried again, quieter and measuring his words. “You might leave, and letting myself get used to you settling in here if you got one foot out the door already is just… I just can’t deal with that, okay?”

“Dean,” Cas started, and then let it hang in the air for a moment. “I don’t know what changed, what made you think I would want to leave, but you have to know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be in this or any other universe.”

Dean nodded down at his lap. He knew he had to get the rest of this out. He was already most of the way there, and the whiskey was definitely helping him over the last hurdle. He polished off the contents of his glass and then set it on the table. It warmed his tongue, his throat, and he gave it another minute as if that would be enough time for the extra shot of alcohol to hit his bloodstream. Every little bit helped at this point.

“It wasn’t one thing, really. More like a series of things. I think the tipping point was when you said you didn’t wanna hang out at the bar anymore.”

“I don’t recall ever saying that,” Cas replied.

“You said I didn’t have to babysit you anymore, like you were just waiting to go out on your own. Like it was becoming a burden for you to drag me out with you.”

“Is that why we haven’t been back in a few weeks? You… you thought I didn’t want you to go out with me?”

“No, I thought _ you _ didn’t want to go out with _ me_.” Dean grumbled at his empty glass on the table in front of him, then reached back for the bottle wedged between the cushions without looking and just took a swig. “Well, that and the way you were eyeing up Darlene. I figured I’d officially become your third wheel.”

“Darlene?” Cas asked quietly, frowning. “The waitress at Donnie’s? I don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand,” Dean said, taking another gulp from the nearly drained bottle, and failing mightily at concealing his hurt Maybe the alcohol was just making it worse, but sooner or later he’d drink enough to stop caring either way. “You were asking me about flirting and you couldn’t keep your eyes off her. I wasn’t gonna stand in the way if you wanted to make a move.”

“Dean,” Cas said beside him as Cas shifted slightly closer.

The couch cushion dipped and Cas reached over and took the bottle from Dean’s hands. Dean didn’t put up a fight, only hung his head as Cas sat there trying to figure out what to do or say to that. Dean didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“I get it, man. You’re human now. You got needs, or whatever. I just don’t think I can play wingman for you. It sounds stupid now, but in my head, I’d been thinking of our nights out as dates. So if you didn’t want to be there with me, I get it. But I can’t watch you go after someone else, either.”

“Dates?” Cas asked softly, as the pieces began to come together. “You wanted me to think of our outings as dates? Like romantic dates?”

Dean made a pained sound and a half-hearted shrug, but didn’t say anything. It hadn’t been the noble and forthright declaration of his feelings Sam would’ve hoped for, but even admitting that much out loud was a hell of a lot for Dean.

“Dean, why didn’t you say anything before?”

He muttered at his knees, “Because this entire conversation sucks, Cas. And now you’re either gonna look at me like I’m some pathetic loser who’s gonna spend the rest of my life making you feel uncomfortable about this, or you’re gonna leave to make your own life less awkward.”

“Why would I do either of those things?” Cas replied.

Dean finally tore his eyes from his own hands white-knuckling on his knees and saw the fear and confusion and hope on Cas’s face. Maybe everything wasn’t going to hell in a handbasket. Maybe he needed another drink to cope with this revelation in case this was just one last push up the hill before it all went careening over the cliff. He grabbed the fresh bottle off the table, cracked the seal on the cap and took a swig before handing it to Cas. As long as they were swimming in shark infested waters, he might as well start paddling. It’s not like this conversation could prove any more devastating than he’d already expected.

“Because there’s no way in hell you’d ever consider going on a real date with a pathetic loser like me?” he asked, even though he hadn’t intended it to come out like a question.

Cas’s eyes went wide, and he raised the bottle and took a few quick gulps before setting it unsteadily back down on the table. His words were beginning to slur together, but damn if he didn’t look intent. “Dean, you are the _ only _pathetic loser I’d consider going on a real date with.”

Dean couldn’t help the giddy laugh that escaped him. So maybe he’d had a bit too much to drink, too. But Cas would go on a date with him. _ Cas _ wanted to go on a date, with _ him _. It clearly had to be a mistake. Dean slowly reached up and laid his hand on Cas’s cheek, partly to assure himself that this was real and partly to make everything else stop spinning. Cas’s gasp let him know it was real, and if he focused on Cas’s eyes everything else ceased to matter anyway.

“Does this count as a date?” Dean asked, feeling a bit stupid, but genuinely wanting to know.

Cas nodded slowly, and Dean’s hand went with it. “If our trips to Donnie’s bar counted as dates to you, then yes, this counts as a date to me.”

Dean nodded back, trying to calculate how many official dates they’d been on according to this new math. They all sort of blurred together in his memory, and for one second he regretted having taken that last slug of whiskey.

“So we’ve been on a lot of dates, then,” Dean said eventually, having given up on math. That seemed to cover what he was trying to say.

Cas leaned into his touch now, a smile tugging at his lips. “I wish I’d known sooner.”

“Same here,” Dean replied, unable to resist leaning in a planting a kiss on that little upturned corner of Cas’s mouth.

He leaned back to make sure it was okay with Cas, and didn’t even have a chance to register his reaction before Cas dove back in for a proper kiss. It was a hundred times more than Dean ever imagined it would be when he’d been resigned to daydreaming about what it would be like to someday work up the nerve to give Cas a good night kiss after one of their many theoretical dates. It had never been anything like this. The warm reality of Cas climbing into his lap to press them closer together as the kiss deepened, his weight settling across Dean’s thighs and giving him ideas he’d been trying desperately not to let go to far in recent weeks. As that reality sank in, that this was really happening, he clutched at Cas’s back and pulled him down, stretching out on the sofa as Cas settled himself alongside him.

They both looked slightly shellshocked as they broke apart to catch their breath. Cas settled more comfortably, half on Dean and half along his side on the wide, comfortable cushions of the sofa Dean had finally resigned himself to hauling through the bunker to this remote but cozy corner. It had seemed a pointless addition to the Dean Cave when Sam had suggested they needed more seating than the two recliners he’d salvaged. With Cas stretched out atop him, he took back every curse and insult he’d hurled at the beast of a sofa the day they’d wrestled it through the door.

Dean held Cas tight, partly to make sure he didn’t fall off the edge of the sofa, but mostly because he could. His other hand gently explored the back of Cas’s neck, fingertips tracing lazy circles and tangling in his hair. Cas let out a pleased sound and dropped his forehead against Dean’s, closing his eyes and savoring the gentle massage. If this was all it took to reduce Cas to a speechless, contented puddle, Dean wondered just how touch-starved he must’ve been to provoke this strong a reaction from such a simple touch. Dean couldn’t really argue with the therapeutic value of this vastly increased contact, either. A Cas blanket was just what the doctor would've ordered.

“Why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner,” Dean muttered, fascinated by the pleased faces Cas made as he moved his fingers through Cas’s hair.

Cas sighed and opened his eyes, staring into Dean’s from an inch away. “Because you’ve insisted on turning every conversation into an argument for the last month?”

Dean couldn’t actually deny that, but he’d been thinking much farther back than just a few weeks. “I was thinking more long term than that. Like why didn’t we ever give in and have glad-you’re-not-dead-anymore sex?”

Cas snorted at that and propped himself up on one wobbly elbow to grin down at Dean. “Every time either of us has been resurrected from the dead, there’d been an inconvenient apocalypse on the horizon.”

Dean snorted and pulled Cas down into a kiss he intended to start making up for all that lost time. “Yeah, well, right now the only thing on the horizon is tomorrow morning.”

“That’s convenient,” Cas replied, settling himself more firmly atop Dean and sliding his hand up Dean’s chest to the side of his neck. Dean arched his back and moaned as Cas’s fingers dragged across his nipple, a reaction Cas found fascinating. He did it again just to watch Dean bite his lower lip as his eyes scrunched shut.

Dean writhed under him and let a long shudder run through him before he got himself back under control. God he’d wanted this for so long, and spent so long hating himself for wanting it, feeling completely unworthy of it. It hadn’t even really sunk in yet that this was really happening. Maybe because he’d definitely had too much to drink for anything to feel completely real in that moment. Much as it pained him, he didn’t want any of this to happen because they were drunk.

When he opened his eyes and saw the awed look on Cas’s face, Dean took a deep breath and ripped the bandage off. “Cas, we should probably take this slow.”

Cas frowned down at him and made a move to slide away, but Dean held him tight and shook his head.

“I just mean I think I might be too drunk to stand up right now, and you’re not exactly sober, either.”

Cas nodded slowly, letting himself relax against Dean again. “I don’t think either of us expected this conversation to end this way. It wouldn’t have required nearly as much liquid courage if we had.”

Since Cas had fallen, he’d lost the ability to drink without repercussions. He’d been a fucking lightweight at first. He’d been drunk by the bottom of his first beer as a human, but he’d gradually been building up a tolerance and learning his personal limits. There’d been a few hilarious misadventures before he had, and Dean had learned that Cas was an adorable drunk but a bear with a hangover. He understood perfectly, from firsthand experience. He only hoped Cas would actually remember all of this in the morning. His track record with that had been kind of hit and miss.

“At least we’re both here now, and we’ll both be here in the morning,” Cas said, as if he knew exactly what Dean had been thinking. “I believe I’m too drunk to stand up, too. And from past experience, that’s the point where I should just lay down and stay there.”

“Glad you remember that lesson,” Dean said, grinning up at him as Cas slowly lowered his head to Dean’s shoulder and snuggled in. “But for the record, I’m not opposed to the kissing.”

Cas stretched up and kissed Dean’s jaw with a contented hum. “It is rather pleasant, yes.”

“Long as we deal with the rest of this after we’ve slept it off,” Dean agreed. He knew he should say something more, but he’d just about reached his limit for coherent thought for the night. And it just felt too good having Cas wrapped around him to risk pushing him away.

They stayed there, exchanging kisses and exploring each other, until the cumulative effect of the alcohol began to take its toll. They slowly drifted off, holding each other tight, finally feeling like the world had settled into place.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas woke up not long after he’d drifted off. He couldn’t figure out where he was at first, and then realized the comfortable and delicious smelling pillow beneath him was actually Dean, and everything came back to him in a rush that left him blinking in wonder. They’d been kissing, and Dean’s arms were still wrapped tightly around him. He was sure they would’ve continued kissing if they hadn’t been so intoxicated. And now, Cas had never been angrier about the human body’s need to pass urine. He didn’t want to leave Dean’s warm embrace, but some things couldn’t be avoided. He very carefully extracted himself from Dean’s embrace and slithered off the edge of the sofa, landing on the floor with a grunt. Dean hardly even stirred, aside from a slight frown now touching the corners of his mouth as his arm flopped over the edge of the sofa. It made Cas feel even worse about needing to get up.

He promised Dean he’d be back in a minute and then attempted to stand. That had been his first mistake. The television was still playing the episode of the show they’d fallen asleep to, which meant he hadn’t slept off any of the drunkenness that had put him to sleep in the first place. The fifteen minute nap his body had allowed him before ringing the alarm hadn’t been enough to sober him up in the least. In fact, he felt even drunker than he had before as he awkwardly twisted around onto his hands and knees and used the coffee table to balance himself as he climbed to his feet.

Cas took one wobbly moment to smile down at Dean before staggering off toward the bathroom. He didn’t recall it being such an agonizingly long walk from the Dean Cave to the bathroom, and several times he found himself cursing Dean for situating his hideaway in the most remote corner of the bunker. He made it eventually, after bumping into several unaccountably inconvenient walls and wandering a good way down the wrong hallway before realizing his mistake. He had no idea how long he’d been stumbling through the halls, but by the time he found the bathroom he’d nearly reached a point of desperation.

His needs now taken care of, exhaustion washed over him again. The thought of walking all the way back to Dean on the other side of the bunker was too much when his own bed was only three doors down. He hoped Dean would wake up and come looking for him, but honestly any further thinking was beyond him at that point. Dean would certainly find him. Cas knew exactly where Dean would look. Instead of his own room, he crossed the hall, opened the door and crept inside, shutting it carefully behind him before crawling into Dean’s bed instead. It seemed like the right and logical solution to all of his problems in that moment.

That had been his second mistake.

Hours later, Dean woke up alone. He almost called out for Cas, but lay there blinking at the tv instead. The Netflix preview screen was still on, which meant he’d slept through most of a season of GBBO. It was probably the longest he’d slept in years, but he could’ve sworn Cas had been there with him when he’d passed out. He’d been drunk, yeah, and the evidence was still sitting on the table in front of him, but he hadn’t been drunk enough to hallucinate Cas kissing him, lying with him until they’d both fallen asleep. But the cushions beside him were cold now, and there was no sign of Cas anywhere. That could really only mean one thing, right?

Cas must’ve woken up at some point during the night and freaked out. Shit. He knew it had been too good to be true.

He sat up with a groan and glanced over at the clock. Quarter to ten, and whoa. He wasn’t sure how late it had been when he’d fallen asleep, but by all accounts, if Sam hadn’t stopped overnight to sleep off his weird curse, he’d probably be home any time now. And Dean had no fucking clue what was up with him and Cas anymore.

Sam was gonna be pissed.

He sat there for a few minutes more, running through the blur of events and the agonizing drunken conversation from the night before. He remembered every last detail, and Cas had seemed to be on the same page with him. Cas had kissed _ him_, he was pretty sure. He’d seemed pretty eager about it, too. And Dean had been the one to pump the brakes and hold him off. 

Maybe Cas had just been drunker than Dean had thought. He remembered saying a lot of things to Cas, but nowhere in those memories did he recall Cas making any sort of a direct declaration of his feelings. The kissing had been great, and Cas’s eagerness to progress from kissing to other things became a recurring feature in Dean’s mental highlight reel, but as he sat there he realized that may be the only highlight he’d ever get. Maybe he’d actually taken advantage of Cas in a moment of drunken weakness, and Cas had bolted when he’d realized what he’d done.

Dean rubbed his face with both hands and prepared himself for the worst, while hoping for the best. Maybe Cas just needed to lie down in his own bed. The couch was comfy, but it wasn’t exactly spacious for two grown men to sleep on. With all the difficulties Cas had faced adjusting to a human sleep schedule again, Dean wouldn’t actually blame him if he just needed a comfortable and familiar place to sleep.

After a quick stop in the bathroom, he frowned as he approached Cas’s door. It was wide open, like Cas had gone in there at some point overnight, but had left again in such a hurry he hadn’t bothered shutting it. He approached the doorway with a sinking feeling and carefully peered inside. The bed hadn’t been slept in, but all of Cas’s other stuff was still there, as far as he could tell. At least he hadn’t packed a bag and fled during the night. Dean bypassed his own room, the door still shut, and headed for the kitchen. This was gonna require coffee to figure out.

***

Cas awoke in Dean’s bed. For a moment he was confused. He’d remembered falling asleep on Dean, and then a vague jaunt through the halls in search of the bathroom. He recalled thinking that Dean would surely wake up and come to bed sooner or later, but a glance at the clock let him know it was nearly ten in the morning, and there was no sign of Dean having been there at all.

Dean surely had to have woken up long before this. He rarely slept more than a few hours, and almost never until ten am. And yet he hadn’t discovered Cas in his bedroom yet. As he grew more lucid, Cas began to realize what that might mean. Maybe Dean regretted what had happened and had run away yet again. Cas had kissed _him_, after all. Dean had seemed receptive, even enthusiastic about it, but he’d also been the one to put a stop to any further advances. Maybe in the clear and sober light of day, he’d changed his mind. He’d never actually stated his intentions or feelings in words, had he? Maybe Cas has just read too much into it, or underestimated just how much Dean had had to drink. Maybe Dean didn’t even remember any of it.

This could be a disaster. And Sam was due home any minute, just in time to witness the disaster firsthand. Cas quickly got out of bed, straightened the covers hoping it didn’t look like they had been disturbed at all, and then listened at the door for any sign of voices in the hall. When he was sure the coast was clear, he slipped out of Dean’s room and darted across the hall into his own. He only stayed there for a handful of minutes, his eyes squeezed shut and his back pressed to the door. There was only one course of action left to him: return to the Dean Cave and hope for the best while shoving his feelings all the way down.

***

Sam cruised down the road toward the bunker. After far too many hours of nonstop driving, the curse was finally breaking down. He’d gritted his teeth and powered his way through Chicago, and after that it had been relatively smooth sailing. Even the little town of Lebanon had only proved to be mildly uncomfortable to drive through, but he was grateful when he finally shut off the engine in the garage. Everything was beautifully silent for just a few minutes. He considered just staying right where he was, flopping over on the front seat and not moving until he woke up. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, intent on doing just that.

His peace and quiet lasted all of thirty seven seconds.

As the spell had worn off, he’d progressed from hearing every thought that went through the minds of everyone within shouting distance to catching little snippets here and there like a radio station cutting in and out. By the time he got to Lebanon, he was mostly picking up feelings and general impressions rather than words and pictures. He was about to be incredibly grateful for that fact.

Sam bolted upright in his seat, almost whacking his head on the ceiling as two nearly identical waves of angst hit him like a punch to the gut. He groaned in agony and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He’d tried. He’d really, _really_ tried to get those two idiots to just talk to each other, but if he was picking up that much frustration and agony, there was no way things had gone well.

He resigned himself to his prolonged suffering and sleeplessness and dragged himself out of the car. If Dean and Cas refused to address their feelings on their own, Sam would just have to sit them both down and _make_ them. At least he was exhausted and cranky enough to lay down the unvarnished truth with them. He had no patience left for anything else.

He made it exactly four steps before a second wave of feelings pounded into him. Sam immediately regretted that metaphor as he processed exactly what he was sensing. His duffel bag slid from his shoulder and hit the floor while he stood there, both mortified and stunned by the intensity of the emotions. He caught fleeting images of hands and mouths and eyes, but he’d been rendered immobile by the profound and overwhelming wonder and awe and… and _ love_. It only lasted a few seconds before it was blown away by the return of the angst. At least Sam knew how to bear up under that particular feeling, and used the reprieve to hurry through the bunker to find Dean. He wasn’t sure he’d survive another round through the emotional whiplash machine Dean and Cas were generating.

Both Dean and Cas’s doors were shut, and for a moment Sam worried that they’d barricaded themselves inside after yet another round of yelling. He was strangely relieved when he heard water running in the kitchen and the clatter of silverware on the metal countertop. At least one of them was up and about and not hibernating alone with their issues. It was a place to start. He hurried to the kitchen and, as expected, found Dean making a pot of coffee, the knot of confusion, frustration and hurt practically visibly radiating off of him. Sam lingered in the doorway for a few seconds while Dean stood waiting for the coffee to brew, his hands resting on the counter and his head bowed. When the second emotional ricochet hit Sam, it came in a wave of longing with a hint of lust, and it was too much for him to bear. He gasped and stumbled down the steps into the kitchen, and Dean startled at the intrusion. At least his surprise disrupted the impressions Sam was picking up from him.

“Hey,” Sam said, waving awkwardly and attempting to look like he meant to nearly fall down the stairs.

“You look like shit,” Dean said. “You shoulda stopped to sleep.”

“Why thanks, I am glad to be home, and it’s nice to see you, too,” Sam replied sarcastically as he slumped into a chair.

“Coffee’ll be ready in a minute, but you look like you had too much caffeine already.”

Sam grunted, and then shrugged. “I think I need one more cup, actually. This curse is gonna kill me. I _ thought _ coming home would give me a little peace and quiet, but apparently the two of you are still pissed at each other.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open and then slammed shut again, remembering exactly what Sam’s curse had done to him. “So… so you can hear our thoughts?”

Sam rubbed at his eyes and sighed. “Thankfully, no. Just… a freight train of feelings. Full disclosure, I don’t wanna feel these feelings.”

“Wait, so you can feel what Cas is feeling right now?” Dean asked, as Sam felt a distinct shift from panic to curiosity, and further away, somewhere deeper in the bunker, a wash of confusion and concern.

It took him a minute to sort out exactly what he was picking up from each of them to separate out the emotions. “Well if you asked me to pin a label on it, I’d call it mild disappointment… no… wait… It’s kinda hard to feel it through the impatient curiosity you’re throwing right in my face here,” he added, glaring at Dean.

Dean took a deep breath to calm himself, and Sam was actually impressed at how effective it was for him. Sam spared one moment of concern for just how easily Dean could literally sqaush down his emotions, intending to worry about it later. He had a more immediate concern to deal with than Dean’s shitty coping mechanisms. He closed his eyes to focus past Dean’s forced calm, and nearly fell out of his chair as he honed in on Cas’s feelings. Sam did everything in his power to disconnect from them, his face heating as he picked up exactly what was going through Cas’s mind.

“What,” Dean said, losing patience again, to Sam’s relief. At least it gave him something else to focus on besides the wave of lust and love powerful enough to render him speechless.

“He, um… wherever he is, he’s… wow… I had no idea the guy was that… um… p-passionate,” Sam replied, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at Dean.

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean asked.

“It means, whoa…” Sam braced himself under the weight of regret and disappointment that followed. “It means the emotional whiplash is unbearable. If I wasn’t so fucking tired I’d go wander out into the woods with a sleeping bag to get away from it. If this is how you’ve both been feeling for the last month, I do not blame either of you for being so pissed off at each other.” He took a few deep breaths and finally looked back up at Dean’s concerned face. “It means whatever conversation the two of you had last night wasn’t finished.”

“So he remembers it?” Dean asked, and Sam just shrugged at him.

“No idea, but he’s hurting just as bad as you are.”

Dean poured Sam a glass of water and set a bottle of pills on the table in front of him. Sam gave him a confused look, but he read everything he needed to know from the surge of hope he felt from Dean. Nothing about this helped clarify what the hell had happened while he’d been away, other than making him damn sure he didn’t need to ever hear any of the details.

“Sleeping pills,” Dean confirmed with a nod at the bottle. “I, uh, think you’re gonna want to take a double dose.”

Sam looked at him wide eyed, at the smirk Dean flashed at him as he turned away to pour two mugs of coffee. He picked up the bottle, dropped a couple of the pills into his hand and swallowed them down. Pushing himself up from the table, he gave Dean a warning.

“At least give me ten minutes to go unconscious before you two do anything…” he waved his hand around and grimaced at Dean.

“Gotcha,” Dean replied as Sam wandered toward the door. “Oh, you wouldn’t happen to know where Cas is, would you?”

“I assumed he was in his room. Door was shut when I walked past.”

Dean frowned but nodded, letting Sam stagger off to bed. Sam had shown up less than five minutes after Dean had walked by Cas’s open door. Either he’d just missed Cas in the hall or else Cas had gone back to his room when he’d heard Dean in the kitchen. At least it was a place to start looking for him again. He picked up the mugs and set out to find him.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean didn’t even need to go as far as Cas’s room. He found himself face to face with Cas right outside the kitchen door. They nearly collided, and Dean hissed as a bit of hot coffee sloshed over his knuckles. Cas blinked in shock before snatching the offending mug from Dean’s hand, leaving him free to shake the scalding liquid from his fingers.

“Uh, hey,” Dean said. “I was just coming to find you.”

Cas nodded slowly, holding up the mug he’d taken from Dean. “I gathered that. I was looking for you.”

“You found me,” Dean replied awkwardly. “Where’ve you been hiding?” he added, at the same moment Cas said, “I went back to the Dean Cave and you were gone.”

Dean must’ve looked confused, because Cas flushed a bit and looked down at his feet, clearly embarrassed.

“I think your assessment of our inability to make sound judgments last night was validated,” Cas said, still not looking at Dean.

Dean’s heart stopped for a second, because this was it. This was his worst case scenario. If Cas had regrets now, it was better to get it all out in the open. Hopefully they could at least salvage their friendship after this. He stared into his coffee mug rather than having to watch the relief spread over Cas’s face.

“I get it. I’m sorry if I pushed you into anything you didn’t want to do.”

“What?” Cas said, his eyes snapping up to Dean’s face. “No, the only thing I regret is having to use the bathroom, and then being too drunk to find my way back to you. I, uh…” he took a deep breath, as Dean finally met his eyes again. “In my inebriated state, it seemed rational to believe that you’d wake up and come looking for me. I considered going to my own room, but, uh… somehow I assumed you’d go to _ your _ room, so…”

Dean knew his mouth was hanging open. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as everything began to make sense. “Wait, you were sleeping in my bed?”

Cas shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. “It was just right. In my defense, I was drunk enough that I got lost on my way to the bathroom. Twice. I wasn’t thinking rationally.”

Dean didn’t even care about the surge of emotions Sam must've been picking up from them. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this fucking _ good_. He wasn’t about to stifle that feeling for anything. Nodding his head slowly, filled with wonder, he just allowed himself a moment to enjoy it.

“So you slept in my bed, and you don’t regret anything else about last night?”

“I regret that I drank as much as I did, I regret that the closest bathroom to the Dean Cave is annoyingly far away, I regret that I was too drunk to find my way back to you, and I regret that you had to wake up alone and doubted everything about last night yourself.”

Dean stood there blinking at Cas for a moment and then blew out a breath. “Okay then. So, uh, how about a good morning kiss, then?”

Cas smiled at him and leaned in, pressing their lips together. Once again, it was Dean who had to regrettably push him away.

“One more thing,” he said, when Cas frowned at him. “I kinda promised Sam we’d let him get to sleep before we did anything too emotional. He’s still under the effect of the curse, and apparently we’ve both been giving him a feelings beatdown since he got home.”

Cas’s eyes widened at that, but he nodded, finally taking a sip of his coffee. “So what should we do until then?”

“He’s probably out cold already.” Dean shrugged, sipping at his own coffee. “So do you wanna go back to the sofa, or back to my bed?”

Cas considered the choice carefully while they drank their coffee. “The sofa is farther from Sam. Perhaps we’d be less of a disturbance to his sleep there.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “That’s real considerate of you, Cas. Give him an extra minute or two for the sleeping pills he took to kick in, too.”

Cas smiled at that, and then turned serious. “You know I never put it into words last night, but in case it wasn’t clear, I love you, Dean. There is no one I’d rather spend this human life with, and nothing that could make me leave your side.”

Dean’s first impulse was to make a joke, but he just couldn’t do it. They’d finally come out and said the words, and Dean just couldn’t hold them back any longer. He stepped right up into Cas’s personal space. “Yeah, same. All of it. Love you too, Cas. Sorry I never had the guts to tell you before.”

“We should refill our mugs while we’re here,” Cas said, smiling broadly before finishing the last of his coffee. “It’s a long walk from the Dean Cave.”

“Good thinking,” Dean agreed. With their mugs full again, they set of quietly for the sofa, to pick up right where they’d left off the night before.

In his room, Sam groaned into his pillow. They were at it again, he thought, wishing those sleeping pills had already knocked him out.

**Author's Note:**

> I was considering putting this in a 'verse with the previous fic I wrote, since they're both of a theme... inspired by the same prompt, and I have other ideas to fill that same prompt in other ways, but I have other fic I need to write first, so I'm letting this one stand on its own for now. We can come back around to poor Sam's eternal suffering with these two nitwits again in the future. :'D
> 
> As usual, you can always find me on tumblr. I'm [mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com).


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